CHAPTER 39
ABHIMAAN
I don’t believe in perfect days.
I’ve never had one. Not when you grow up the way I did—counting bruises instead of birthdays, measuring your worth by how silent you can stay. Life’s never handed me beauty without cost. So I don’t trust it.
But right now, with Aditi’s hand curled loosely around mine as we walk through the quieter part of the city, where even the traffic sounds like it’s holding its breath—I can’t help but wonder if maybe... just maybe... this could be one.
She hasn’t asked me where we’re going. She just followed me with that calm confidence of hers, like she knew I’d take her somewhere that mattered.
We stop in front of the old library—tucked between two buildings like a forgotten secret. Ivy covers most of the faded sign, and the windows are smudged with time.
She looks up at it, then at me. Her eyes narrow slightly, like she’s trying to figure out if I’ve lost my mind.
“This is it?” she asks, half-smiling.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the brass key. It’s cool against my skin—heavier than it should be, considering how long I’ve been carrying it. I press it into her hand.
She looks down at it, then up again, brows pinched together. “What’s this?”
“Your library.” She looks at me as if I have lost my mind.
And then she laughs. It’s soft, surprised, the kind that pulls something tight in my chest.
“Abhimaan,” she says like it’s a joke, like I’m kidding.
I don’t respond. Just unlock the door and push it open.
“Come inside,” I murmur.
She steps in, and I follow. And then she just... stops.
The room is quiet—still—and filled with a soft golden glow.
I’d spent hours looping fairy lights across the tops of shelves and over window frames.
The old wooden tables are polished, and the floor is swept clean.
It smells like worn pages and a little bit of cinnamon from the diffuser one of the helpers insisted on sneaking in.
Every shelf is full. Not with bestsellers, because I got to know she is an indie supporter. I must admit, it’s quite difficult to order indie books, but nothing I cannot handle. I don’t say anything. I watch her.
Her eyes sweep the room, her mouth parted slightly, fingers still curled around the key like she forgot she was holding it.
“You did this?” she whispers.
I shrug. “Yeah.”
She turns to me slowly. “You bought a library?”
“She was retiring,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Didn’t want to sell to some chain. I made her an offer.”
Her face twists in disbelief. “But… this must’ve cost you crores, Abhimaan.”
I frown. “So?”
She stares at me for a second, like she’s waiting for me to laugh. When I don’t, she lets out this little huff of air and shakes her head. Then—out of nowhere—she smiles, wide and real.
“You’re cute,” she says.
I blink. “What?”
“You are,” she says, eyes crinkling. “Trying to act all tough with your grumpy face, and then you go and do something like this.”
“I didn’t do it to be cute,” I mutter.
She walks toward me, slowly, her fingers trailing across the back of a leather armchair.
“You don’t have to do things like this for me,” she says gently. “I don’t need grand gestures. Just quality time.”
My jaw clenches. I don’t know what to say to that. I never learned what quality time is. Growing up, time was something you survived through, not something you shared.
But she’s looking at me like she means it. Like being here—with me—is enough.
“I wasn’t trying to impress you, darling,” I say finally.
She tilts her head. “No?”
“I just… wanted to give you something that feels like you. Quiet. Thoughtful. Full of stories. And maybe,” I add after a pause, “keep a reason to be close to it too.”
There’s a silence between us. But it’s not heavy. It’s… soft.
She crosses the room and stands in front of me. Places her palm gently against my chest, right above the scar I got when I was sixteen and made the mistake of saying no for once. Her touch burns. But not in a bad way.
“This is the best first date I’ve ever had,” she murmurs.
I don’t know how to handle praise like that. I look away, but her hand keeps me grounded.
“Then I’m setting the bar too high, darling,” I say. “You’ll have to keep going out with me just to see what I do next.”
She laughs. The sound makes me feel something I don’t have a name for yet.
Her fingers curl into my shirt slightly. “You’re not good for my heart.”
I lean down, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “I’ve been bad for a lot of things, Aditi. But with you… I want to try being good. Even if I don’t know how.”
Her smile fades into something tender, something almost vulnerable. “You’re already better than you think.”
“Maybe,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “But if I’m ever enough, it’ll be because you saw something in me worth loving.”
She doesn’t say anything. She just reaches up and hooks her arms loosely around my neck. No rush. No pressure.
Just... closeness. And then she presses her lips against mine.